It’s time for the Tour de Edinburgh, boys (approx 20 mins)!! Up at the crack of dawn, I strap into my lycra (skin-tight to maximise offensive bulges) and set off from my lodgings – quite frankly the only passable place to stay in the city: Morningside. Safe to say it’s the Islington of Edinburgh – artisanal bakeries, generational wealth invested in historic housing stock, overpriced little coffee shops-cum-hand thrown pottery showrooms. It’s imperative to begin your cycle with an expensive little coffee. I like my coffee like I like my women – the flatter and whiter the better.
Then, I clip in my clippy little shoes and race through the Bruntsfield Links. I see how many games of golf I can viciously interrupt at high velocity. Golf shouldn’t be played on public land, it’s an outrage. Golf belongs on gated, private land where my friends and I can convince ourselves we’re important. That’s why I’ve started a campaign to Keep Golf Private! Text WHERESMYBUGGY to 6969 for a free pin badge.
Then, with only a smattering of bruises from the golf balls and clubs if I’m lucky, it’s up towards Edinburgh Castle. Oh to soak in the glorious history. I take a break to think about when men were men, jousting, eating a quail stuffed in a pigeon stuffed in a turkey stuffed in a goat, burning women as witches who made them uncomfortable. Those were the good old days.
I remount my noble steed (bike) and freewheel down the Royal Mile. It’s like a glorious game of bowling, where I’m the big ball and the pins are arty, speccy little wankers. Five points for an actor flying in period costume, 10 for a mime, 30 if you take out a full Russell Group University improv troupe.
I round off my cycle by stopping outside Holyrood and seeing if I can find a Scottish nationalist to pick a fight with. Because Scotland can’t just leave the union, not out of nowhere, for no good reason, it simply wouldn’t make any logical sense. We had an agreement!! We signed a legally binding document!!! I howl this at some passing tourists and then, completely unrelated, find the nearest pub and sink about 10 pints and call my wife (newly ex-wife). She doesn’t pick up.
Kathy Maniura: The Cycling Man, Pleasance Courtyard, 30 Jul-24 Aug (not 11, 18), 4.35pm